


Change of Pace

by pherryt



Series: Reverse Prompts [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cabin Retreat, Canon Divergent, Creature Fic, Cuddling, Fluff, Found Family, Guitar, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Music, Sharing Clothes, Shifter AU, Stubborn!Clint, Werewolf, bed sharing, cooking together, deaf!Clint, hearing loss, naked!bucky, post winter soldier, stream, strumming, tub sharing, werewolf!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: With Steve's help, Bucky had found himself a cabin in the middle of nowhere, continuing his efforts to relearn who he is and get back in touch with the wolf portion of himself that HYDRA had suppressed for so long. He doesn't expect to find his well deserved peace and quiet invaded by Hawkeye, but if he's honest with himself, Bucky doesn't mind the intrusion all that much.He just needs to figure out what's wrong, and why Clint'sreallythere.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Winterhawk
Series: Reverse Prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852876
Comments: 117
Kudos: 292
Collections: Reverse Prompt Challenge





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bucky Barnes Fluffathon for the Bucky Barnes Bingo crew - each chapter is a different prompt, there were 7 days of prompts with 4 choices each.
> 
> This is mostly fluff with a thread of angst through most of the chapters with one of the chapters having it all come to a head. but mostly fluff, i promise.
> 
> Chapter 1 prompt is Rain, from day 1

Bucky sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint the scent on the edge of his property. He liked living out in the middle of the woods, reconnecting with the side of himself that HYDRA had suppressed for so long.

Wolves like him and Steve living in the bigger cities had been rare, back in the day. Those few that did tended to hide the fact that they were _other_ , occasionally going on outings to more rural areas to stay in touch with that part of themselves.

What Bucky had never understood was _why_ his family had chosen to live in Brooklyn and now it was far too late to ask. But he knew Stevie’s had done so because of his health and Bucky had stayed at his side.

Now it was a new century, new life. Shifters were common knowledge these days, but Bucky no longer felt comfortable in the bigger cities. Once he’d recovered enough of himself, he’d told Steve what he’d wanted and that’s how he’d found himself here.

Mostly, he was alone, and he was okay with that. It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to be alone, but that he aside from Steve, he hadn’t found anybody he could stomach having around for too long a stretch. But right now, he wasn’t alone. There was someone else in these woods, someone tantalizingly familiar that wasn’t Steve. Nor was Steve due for a visit, so who could it be?

He loped through the trees easily, homing in on the familiar scent. He didn’t know a lot of people, and the scent wasn’t putting him on edge, so who could it be? Maybe another Avenger? But why would another Avenger come out here? They never had before, only Steve.

He almost ground to a halt.

Unless something was wrong with Steve?

Redoubling his efforts, Bucky tracked down the scent – coffee, feathers and some sort of oil he couldn’t remember the name of – and was almost on top of it when thunder rolled and the sky opened up, the deluge of water making Bucky’s fur stick uncomfortably.

The sharp smell of lightning, the wet smell of rain and disturbed foliage as it fell, nearly covered the other scent and Bucky huffed, moving about in circles, casting around for it.

The effort was made moot when his ears pricked forward, picking up faint words a few feet away.

“Awww, rain, no….”

He rounded a clump of trees and bushes and came face to face with Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, and coming to a stop before the man and sitting.

Clint blinked down. “I hope that’s you, Barnes. One woof for yes, two woofs for no.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course it was him. How many wolves had a leg made of metal? He barked once, then stood, and turned, padding away a couple of feet, then stopping to look back, making sure Clint was following him. He was. Bucky continued leading Clint to the cabin Steve had helped Bucky buy, the rain pouring down every single step of the way. Clint was lighter on his feet than Bucky had expected and even in the dimness of the woods and the darkening sky from the storm, Clint kept up easily with Bucky, not losing sight of him or tripping on any exposed roots or rocks.

Suffice it to say, Bucky was impressed. Clint wasn’t even a shifter, or augmented in any way. To Bucky’s nose, Clint was 100 percent human.

The cabin loomed before them and he heard Clint mutter, “Thank _god_ ,” as they approached. He nosed the door open, Clint close behind him. Once inside, Bucky halted and shook himself out before heading into the cabin proper – no sense in getting _everything_ wet.

“Awww, Barnes, no! Now I’m gonna smell like wet dog!” Clint exclaimed, pulling two bags off his back and setting them to the side. Bucky might have took offense at Clint’s words, but Clint was laughing as he shook his head, little droplets flinging not quite so impressively as Bucky’s had. In the blink of an eye, Bucky shifted, not in the least bit ashamed of his nakedness.

“Give me a minute, I’ll get you a towel and some warm clothes.”

“Mmmm…” Clint’s response was vague and his eyes were glued to Bucky until he gave himself another shake, blushed and looked away. Clearing his throat. “Oh, um, sorry about that.”

Bucky grinned, deliberately stretching. Clint’s eyes were drawn over to him again, mouth dropping open. Bucky’s grin turned into a smirk. It felt good to be appreciated on a purely aesthetic level again, despite the scars he’d gained and endured over the years.

Moving swiftly through the front room of the cabin, Bucky first ducked into the hall to grab 2 large towels, then into the bedroom for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, though they wouldn’t quite be big enough for Clint.

Still, it was better than nothing.

He returned to where Clint still stood in the entryway, dripping all over the floor. “Here,” Bucky said, tossing the towel over first with barely a warning. With just as little shame as Bucky, Clint stripped right then and there, then proceeded to dry himself off.

“Oh man, Barnes, this towel is _heaven,”_ Clint said appreciatively. Bucky just hummed his own response, using his own towel to finish off what his shake hadn’t gotten rid of, unable to tear his eyes away from Clint. He might not be augmented or anything, but he had a pretty nice body on him.

Clint caught him staring and Bucky just grinned, refusing to feel guilty for appreciating such a fine form, especially as the feeling seemed mutual. Still, though it was a shame when Clint dragged on Bucky’s clothes, something inside of Bucky was well pleased to see Clint in _his_ clothes, despite them being a bit short in the leg.

“You, uh,” Clint gestured at Bucky. “Not that I’m complaining, mind, but you, uh, gonna put on any clothes?”

Bucky just winked, sauntered over to the fireplace and added another log to the flames, poking at it with his metal hand – the new one, that Tony had made him using Nanotech so it changed _with_ him – to get it all settled just right.

“You hungry?” he asked, turning to face Clint who hadn’t moved one step away from the door.

Clint whimpered almost inaudibly – except to a shifters ears, particularly an _augmented_ shifter’s ears - closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He nodded without opening his eyes. Bucky chuckled and took pity on the archer, grabbing up the sweats he’d left draped over the kitchen chair earlier that day before he’d shifted and gone to find who was trespassing on his land.

Calling over his shoulder, Bucky said “It’s safe to open your eyes, now.”

Evidently taking him at his word, Clint soon joined Bucky in the kitchen, dropping into a chair and tucking his feet under those long legs of his. Bucky moved around with purpose, taking out a couple of bowls and setting about checking on dinner. He’d set up a crockpot with beef stew that morning.

“So, not that you aren’t a welcome sight to these eyes –“ _Especially naked_ , Bucky mused. “But to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Stevie –“

“Caps good,” Clint said quickly. Bucky felt relief push through him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Clint was rubbing at the back of his neck and his scent had turned uneasy. “It’s nothing to worry about. I just… needed to get away. Nat and Steve thought it best I come here. Figured you could do with some company.”

Bucky paused, something in Clint’s scent pinging Bucky’s instincts. There was a lie to Clint’s words. No, not quite a lie, but not the whole truth. He looked at Clint critically, saw the man staring unseeingly at the table in front of him, his fingers moving restlessly, picking at the hem of his shirt.

Then he saw the dark circles under Clint’s eyes, a gauntness to his frame he didn’t remember the other man having before. Steve and Nat may have sent Clint here, but Bucky was suddenly sure that it was more for _Clint’s_ benefit than his, that they were worried for their teammate and wanted someone to keep an eye on him.

Well, he’d have liked a heads up on what he was watching out _for_ but Bucky could do that. He _could_ do with a little bit of company and Clint was, as far as Bucky could remember, not a bad guy and certainly easy on the eyes.

Whatever was going on, he’d happily help.

The stew was ready, so he dished it up and set the bowls out on the table. The instant the food hit the table, Clint perked up, almost snatching the spoon out of Bucky’s hand when he returned to the table with it.

“God, this smells _good,”_ Clint moaned after giving the stew a nice, long inhale. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s something to do. Hey, you eat up. I’m gonna let Stevie know you made it in safely. You know how he worries.”

“You get reception out here?” Clint asked in surprise and… possibly a little dismay. What was that all about?

“Stark Tech. ‘sides, you think Stevie was gonna let me go anywhere he couldn’t get a hold of me if there was some kind of emergency, or vice versa?”

“Fair point,” Clint conceded. Then he looked down at his food and set to it, moaning around the first mouthful. Bucky blushed and booked it for the bedroom, where he kept the phone. For some reason, Bucky felt the need to make sure Clint didn’t overhear this conversation, even though Clint _had_ to be suspicious.

Steve picked up on the first ring.

"What's wrong with him?" Bucky said before Steve could do more than answer the phone.

"Oh, good. He actually went."

"Yeah, speaking of, thanks for the heads up, you punk."

"Sorry, we didn't want to say anything in case he didn't show and you panicked."

"Why wouldn't he show?" Bucky asked, bringing him right back to the question he first asked Steve. "What's going on?"

"There was... an incident. Remember that dustup a month back?"

“The explosion at the docks? Yeah, I remember. Thought everyone came out okay?”

“We did, for the most part. Clint was the closest to the explosion. Some bruising, a few nasty gashes and a concussion, but nothing too bad. So we thought. We think he’s hiding something worse. I wasn’t sure at first, because…” Steve trailed off.

Bucky sighed. “Because he’s a spy, hiding shit is what he does.”

“Yeah, but so’s Nat,” Steve said. “Plus, they were partners for years at SHIELD. She knows him better than anyone here, and the next time we got a call out, Nat grounded him. He’s feeling a little betrayed, won’t stay here and she didn’t think it would be wise for him to be on his own so I suggested he head out your way. Didn’t think he’d actually do it, though. He’s pretty stubborn.”

“So you sent the stubborn my way? Thanks a lot,” Bucky groused, though he wasn’t actually mad about that.

“Well, I figured, you’ve had plenty of practice with stubborn blondes, why not put it to good use?”

Bucky chuckled. “All right, fine. But what am I looking for, punk?”

Steve hesitated. “I don’t actually know and Nat didn’t tell us. I have my suspicions but I don’t want to color your judgement. Just… be there for him. Maybe he’ll open up to you.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Bucky said warily.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, way too chipper for Bucky’s liking. “Knew I could count on you!”

The phone was dead seconds later, leaving Bucky no wiser to what he was looking for. What kind of injury could Clint have sustained that would still be lingering around, hadn’t been big enough to get _noticed_ in the first place, and that he’d be trying to hide?

Shaking his head, Bucky dropped the phone back onto his night stand and went back to the kitchen to eat his food.

After dinner, Bucky gave Clint the short tour of the cabin. It was really only 3 rooms and a closet. The front entryway spread out into an open room combining the kitchen and living room, and there was a very short hallway off the center of that open room.

On one side of the hall was the door to the bedroom, quite small compared to the tower bedrooms, but bigger than the room he’d shared with Steve back before the war. It was plenty big enough for Bucky’s needs. On the other side were two more doors – the bathroom and a utility room. The utility room had access panels for the electricity, the hot water heater, a washer and dryer, and built in shelves for towels and tools and other things.

The shelves were still a little sparse, but Bucky figured Clint would want to use the washer and dryer, at least.

Returning to the main room, Clint sauntered to the couch and looked around. “So what do you do for fun around here?”

Bucky shrugged. “Read, mostly. Sometimes I try to draw. Been teaching myself guitar, too. Got a pack of cards, if you wanna play?”

“Okay, sure,” Clint agreed, dropping onto the couch. He reached out with his long legs to hook the coffee table with his foot and reel it in. “Got any beer?”

“Nah, beer don’t do much these days,” Bucky said, joining him on the couch with the pack of cards.

They played cards for about an hour or so before Bucky declared he was going to call it a night. Their shared games knowledge was a little limited anyway, so they’d been reduced to playing Rummy, but Bucky was looking forward to teaching Clint a few oldies if Clint stuck around. Bucky had fond memories of playing Euchre with Steve’s family, learning alongside of Steve.

Clint refused the bed, insisting the couch would be just fine as Bucky cleaned up the cards and the glasses from their drinks, in addition to the bowl from his second helping of dinner.

“Y’know, I can shift and curl up anywhere, not just the couch, right?” Bucky tried to point out. Clint ignored him, shaking out the afghan that had been laying on the back of the couch. Bucky shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. If you don’t care that your feet will dangle off the end, then who am I to argue it?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Bucky,” Clint said as he slid himself onto the couch and under the afghan. “I’ve slept in way worse places, believe me. This’s like a palace compared to, well, a lot of them, actually.”

Frowning at the words, Bucky couldn’t help but sympathize with Clint. He’d certainly slept in worse places himself, and they’d never been under the best of circumstances. If the majority of Clint’s sleeping arrangements were poorer than a too small couch with a single blanket, what had been Clint’s life up to this point? Sure, a certain amount of that probably came from being on the job, but it shouldn’t make that big of a difference, should it?

He decided to attempt lightening the mood a little. “Pretty sure Starks Tower was a palace,” he responded, shaking his head and wondering again what, exactly, the others had signed him up for. “Night, Clint. Feel free to grab an extra blanket if you want one.”

Clint waved him off, eyes slipping closed, so Bucky left him to fall asleep and returned to his room. He stripped and fell into bed, his mind occupied by the very distracting thoughts of one, Clinton Barton, Hawkeye, Avenger and all around stubborn ass.

Why and how did he always seem to fall into the orbits of stubborn asses and disaster blondes?

That might be a mystery even Doctor Strange couldn’t solve.


	2. Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter is from Day 2: Outside

Bucky woke up and yawned, stretching long and languidly before finally pushing up from his bed and padding out to the kitchen.

The fire was still going, though not as strong as when he’d gone to bed, but it was warm enough and the dark wood flooring was pleasantly warm on his bare feet. That wasn’t always the case, and he did have some soft rugs strategically placed around the room for those mornings when it wasn’t.

He set the coffee pot going before heading for the fireplace, crouching down and tossing another log onto the fire. Evidence showed Clint must have woken up at least once and done the same. Bucky hummed in approval as Bucky poked at the fire with his arm.

The flames flickered and snapped, the scent of it strong and comforting. The rain had let up sometime in the night and he wondered if the tarp he’d left over the woodpile waiting to be split had held up or not. It was getting cooler out and once winter came, it wouldn’t matter how hot he ran because of the serum.

The flames mesmerized him, lulling him with their beauty, letting him soak in the simple warmth of it, when the quiet was suddenly broken by a soft inhale, then a rustle.

“God, do you got something against pants?” Clint mumbled sleepily.

Bucky snorted. “You ever try to shift while wearing clothes?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer; Clint wasn’t a shifter so maybe it truly hadn’t occurred to him the difficulties that would present. Bucky stood, walking back to the bedroom, feeling Clint’s eyes on him with every step.

As with the night before it felt good. Different from the assessing and calculating gaze of HYDRA, looking at him as a weapon and not a person. It was _also_ different from the looks he’d garnered in the early days at the tower, with the rest of the team. The looks where people were waiting for him to snap.

Not so much the _team_ , though there was concern there, but everyone else he had to deal with back then, before he’d reclaimed himself, made himself enough of a person again for the looks to melt away.

The look Clint was giving him was different. _Very_ different. And Clint’s gaze was making him even warmer than the fire had.

Breakfast was simple. Scrambled eggs with ketchup, chopped potatoes with onion and bacon and a bit of seasoning. And coffee. God, Clint went through a _lot_ of coffee.

“What’s on your agenda for the day?” Clint asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“Gonna do a circuit ‘round the property, make sure there were no breaches, no suspicious activity,” Bucky said. “Do that twice a day on the regular, sometimes more if I’m having a bad night.”

Clint nodded. “Sounds reasonable to me,” he agreed, finishing off a third cup of coffee and pouring himself a fourth.

“Does it? Steve thinks I’m paranoid.”

“It’s just good sense,” Clint said. “Besides, it ain’t paranoia if people really _are_ out to get you. And from _both_ our history, I think it’s safe to say its better to be paranoid then not.”

Grinning, Bucky said, “I knew I liked you.”

“Anything else?”

“Chores, of course.” Clint made a face and Bucky chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re a guest, I don’t expect you to do chores. Help yourself to a book, if you’d like. The guitar too, but please be gentle with her.”

Clint was still grimacing but he nodded at Bucky’s words. Finishing off the last of his food, Bucky cleaned his dishes, then moved about in the kitchen checking what he wanted to set up in the crockpot for another dinner meal later. Lunch would be the remains of last nights dinner and this mornings breakfast and he was mentally cataloguing how quickly they’d go through food now that he was entertaining.

Maybe he’d supplement the meat with a rabbit or something? Bucky didn’t often go hunting, though his instincts called him to on occasion. He’d had enough of killing, but the small game around here was plentiful, and this was different then the stuff he’d had to do under HYDRA’s control, or even in the war.

This was more natural.

He shook off the thoughts and turned away from the kitchen, dropping his sweatpants by the couch without a thought, shifting till he stood on four legs instead of two. He shook himself out, catching sight of Clint staring, awe on his face.

“Man, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that.”

Bucky sent him a wolfish grin before easing his way out of the cabin. His route that morning was more distracted then usual, the pull to return to the cabin was strong, but he pushed it away to continue his routine. It was important, and if he cut it short or half assed it, he _knew_ it would bug him the rest of the day.

The previous nights rain had washed away the faint trail of scent Clint had made, and the vicinity was clear of any other scents of note, or cause to worry. He returned to the cabin, feeling the rush of wind riffling through his fur as he ran, felt patches of sun warming him through. The fresh smell of the forest was invigorating, though not as enticing as the scent memory of Clint

As Bucky approached the cabin, he could hear rhythmic thunks - familiar in tone, though not in cadence - and he broke from the tree cover only to come to a stop at the edge when he saw Clint. Clint was shirtless and he swung an axe with strength and precision, splitting wood as Bucky silently watched.

Whatever possible injury Steve was sure Clint was hiding, it couldn’t be anything to do with his arm or torso, not with the way Clint was effortlessly moving. Sweat beaded across his skin from exertion and the sun bearing down on Clint and Bucky was entranced by the ripple and play of Clint’s muscles, by the sheen of his skin, by the drops of sweat slowly meandering paths down over his body.

Clint sung tunelessly in broken pieces of song that Bucky didn’t know and Bucky was suddenly filled with the conviction that Clint being there - in his space, in his woods, his cabin and hell, even some of Bucky’s clothes – was absolutely meant to be.

Whatever was going on, Clint was right where he should be – with Bucky.

Unsure where that thought had come from, Bucky loped across the clearing before the cabin when Clint paused, leaning on the axe. Not because he needed a break, but because his face was angled upwards to catch the sun his eyes were closed and Clint looked peaceful, scatterings of shadows moving across his face as the wind rocked gently through the upper branches of the trees.

He opened his eyes suddenly, catching sight of Bucky and breaking into a smile. Bucky brushed against Clint and Clint took that as permission to touch, his long fingers tangling in Bucky’s dark fur. Bucky huffed a little, coming to sit and lean on Clint at the touch. It was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had run their fingers through his fur that hadn’t been Steve.

Soon enough, the two of them were sitting on the grass, Bucky curled up against Clint’s side, just enjoying the fall morning with Clint’s arm looped over his back, his fingers occasionally scratching through. This was nice. Bucky had company, and no conversation was necessary. The silence wasn’t awkward, either, but comfortable and warm.

Golden.

Like Clint’s hair, glinting somewhat in the sun.

“I’m glad I came out here,” Clint said softly. “To the cabin. I almost didn’t. I almost went to Bedstuy instead. I got a place there, people I take care of. But everything just suddenly felt too smothering. I couldn’t stay in the tower and I couldn’t go home either. But here, here, with you, it seems to be exactly what I needed.”

Bucky’s head perked up a little in curiosity at the mention of a place in Bedstuy. His head cocked a bit in confusion when he realized that Clint didn’t consider the tower home.

Well, neither had Bucky, but then he wasn’t part of the team either.

He wondered exactly what that might mean. Resolving to talk about it later, at some point, Bucky settled his head in Clint’s lap. He was always a little bit bolder as his wolf self then as his human self, though he’d done a fairly good job of returning to his base levels of bold, to the cocky surety of the Barnes he’d been before.

A few months ago, Bucky wouldn’t have dared this.

A few months before that, Bucky wouldn’t even have left his room covered in fur. He’d been afraid the others would fear the wolf part of himself, or be disgusted. But the world had changed and the Avengers and their kin weren’t the sorts of bigots that Bucky had grown up around and worked for.

Far from minding the furry creature that could easily tear Clint in two if Bucky so wished - a wolf nearly as big as Clint, if not bigger (despite Clint’s particularly tall height of six foot three) – who was practically crawling into his lap, Clint chuckled and rubbed at Bucky’s ears.

“You’re fur is so fucking soft, I wanna bury my face in it,” Clint said suddenly. Bucky blinked one eye open and cocked his head in Clint’s lap enough to glare up at him. Clint laughed. “Okay, that’s not making me want to do it any less. You are too adorable.”

Bucky huffed and closed his eyes, letting the breeze and sun wash over him, inhaling Clint’s scent, letting it all lull him into a rare, out of doors nap.

He felt safe, with Clint, as strong arms wrapped around him and Clint did, in fact, bury his face in Bucky’s fur.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to mind.


	3. Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's prompt is from Day 6 : Chocolate

The morning nap was eventually interrupted, thunder snapping out overhead, the threat of rain once more inevitable. Clint and Bucky made their way back inside the cabin, Clint stopping only to recover the pile with Bucky’s tarp, weighing it down with a couple of handy rocks Bucky had been using for the same purpose. The axe he leaned up just inside the woodshed Bucky had built.

Once back in the cabin, Bucky shifted, his fur melting away into pale skin. “Do you like hot chocolate?” he asked, shooting the question over his shoulder. “Not the powdered kind. _Real_ hot chocolate.”

“I could be persuaded,” Clint said from right behind him.

Bucky didn’t jump. Because he had ears and knew how to use them.

Dammit.

He _did_ jump, but he was hoping Clint hadn’t caught that fact. “Hey, you forgot your pants again,” Clint said, mirth and admiration filling his tone.

“Meh, unless it’s cold, its really hard to remember the clothes,” Bucky admitted. “You really mind all that much?”

“Not in the slightest. You’re awful pretty to look at,” Clint admits right back. “Didn’t think _you’d_ really be all that okay with it, to be honest, not with how Cap is. Steve’s really weird about who sees him in any state – furred or otherwise.”

“Yeah, that’s Stevie,” Bucky said. “He’s always been a very private person. He lost a lot of that when he became Captain America though. Probably his one regret.”

“I can imagine,” Clint said, finally backing up and hitching a hip on the table. “I’m only Hawkeye, one of the least known Avengers, but then people actually recognize _me_ on the street? Like, how does that happen? It’s just… so weird. Steve gets that, like, a bajillion. And before that, there were those communal locker rooms with SHIELD – different kind of privacy issues, but you and him were in the army. I bet that wasn’t too far different.”

Bucky hummed non committedly, mostly distracted by the continuing shirtless state of Clint. The sweat had long since dried, but he was a fit man with especially good biceps and tan lines that showed that Clint often wore sleeveless shirts.

Swallowing, Bucky forced himself to tear away from his open admiration of Clint and focus on actually _making_ the hot chocolate he’d promised. He got the milk going on the stove while he quickly reduced a chocolate bar into small enough pieces he was confident would melt properly.

“Chocolate was a special treat growing up,” Bucky said conversationally as Clint rummaged through the cabinets. Bucky nudged him with a hip and nodded his head towards the cabinet on the end. “That one.”

“Thanks, man,” Clint said, opening the cabinet and pulling out two mugs. Bucky had the sudden wish that he’d put all the mugs on the top shelf to watch Clint stretch. He shook his head, stirring the chocolate into the milk and watching it melt into rich, creamy smoothness.

When the hot chocolate was ready, they retreated to the cozy comfort of the couch and the afghan, Bucky pausing to drag those damn sweatpants back on while Clint poked at the fire this time.

“Dammit,” Clint groused. “You got the electricity, why no tv? How’m I gonna keep up with Dog Cops like this?”

Bucky raised his eyebrow, peering at Clint over the lip of his mug, glad it was covering his smirk of amusement. “Hey, pal, _you_ came _here_ , remember?”

Clint let out a long-suffering sigh, giving Bucky a mournful look. The look transformed nearly instantly as Clint took the first sip of his hot cocoa.

“Damn, Barnes, this is _good_ ,” he said.

“That’d be the whip cream with chocolate shavings on top,” Bucky drawled out slowly. “Seriously, Barton, it’s nothin’ fancy.”

“Mmmmm….” Clint closed his eyes with a pleased sound. Bucky couldn’t help the blush, almost squirming in place at Clint’s appreciation of the hot cocoa. Coupled with his praise for last nights dinner, and Bucky was practically on cloud nine.

When they’d emptied their mugs, Bucky headed back to the kitchen to pull out the chicken he’d defrosted that morning. It didn’t take long before the crockpot was set to go, especially as Clint had trailed after him like a lost puppy and offered to help. Before long they were back on the couch with a second, fresh mug of hot chocolate, and Bucky was holding back a smile at the sight of whipped cream dotting Clint’s nose.

The day stretched before them, the rain starting up once more, pattering gently along the roof and slowly picking up intensity. It was soothing, bringing back memories Bucky had long since lost of his child hood. Filled with nostalgia of sitting around the dinner table with his family and later, Stevie, playing cards, Bucky pulled the cards back out and shuffled the pack. He smiled apologetically up at Clint.

“Normally, I’d read a bit, or practice the guitar, but figured I could teach you a few old timey games. Pick one – Euchre or Cribbage?”

“Why not both?”

“One at a time, doll,” Bucky said with a grin. He was really looking forward to this. Back at the tower, nobody seemed to have time for board games or cards, always with the tv or the internet or a video game. Not that those weren’t fun in and of themselves, and it wasn’t like Bucky was against technology – hell, he’d loved reading every sci fi book he could get his hands on and going to the Stark Expo before the war – but sometimes it was all a little too much.

An hour later had Bucky confused as fuck. Hawkeye wasn’t dumb. He _knew_ that, but teaching Euchre had turned out to be quite the project, with Clint missing many of the finer points of the game. Finally, he tossed the cards down, a little disgruntled.

“Let’s take a break,” he said, restraining the urge to growl in frustration.

Clint frowned at the cards now littering the table. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna grab some coffee anyway,” he said, dropping his own cards into the small pile and standing up. Bucky watched him get up and move, at first just to enjoy the view, but then he saw the tense line of Clint’s still bare shoulders as he moved about the kitchen and Bucky suddenly remembered that Clint was here for a reason.

Something was bothering Clint, whatever it may be, and Bucky felt the frustration bleed away, resolving to keep a closer eye on the man with that thought in mind.

When Clint returned to the couch, Bucky had a book in his hand and his feet drawn up under him. Clint handed a steaming hot mug, settling back in with his own cradled in his hands.

“Thanks,” he murmured, caught up in his book. It was an old one, each word a familiar echo in his head, though the story remained a blank to him. Clint didn’t seem to want to talk, and so the two of them settled in. Bucky quickly got lost in the adventures of John Carter, an old soldier displaced in a wildly different world with unfamiliar tech. The setting of the book was unique to his experiences, having nothing in common directly, but Bucky found himself resonating a bit with the main character, at least in a general sense.

While Bucky followed Carter across the landscape of Mars (or Barsoom, as the inhabitants called it), Clint messed around with his battered phone. It was quiet, and comfortable, and Bucky didn’t even jump when Clint wound up stretching his legs across the couch and tucking his toes under Bucky’s thighs. Bucky looked up to see Clint blinking at him innocently and he smirked back in response, going back to his book, only super aware of Clint _in his space_ , now.

The rain started petering off just about dinner time and Bucky carefully tucked a bookmark into the paperback and set it on the table, standing and stretching, feeling Clint watch his every move.

Bucky blushed again, and feelings he’d almost forgotten about rose in him, just as fresh as the day he’d first realized they were there. It had caught him off guard, that day, surprised him with its intensity, surprised him when he’d looked back over everything and saw how it had been building, day by day, until it was largely unavoidable.

He hadn’t known what to do with that. All he’d known was that he wasn’t ready yet, and didn’t know when or if he ever would be.

Back at the tower, everyone had been invested in helping him in some way. Tony and Bruce had cajoled him into coming down to the lab to improve his arm and cut down on his pain. Sam had helped him work things out by being an outside perspective while Steve and Nat were two different parts of his own narrative and memory, filled with support mixed with understanding and melancholy.

Clint, of them all, had just… been there. A sleep tousled, sarcastic and competent disaster. He hadn’t treated Bucky with kid gloves, had included him on things, and been just as grumpy with him as he was with anyone else in the tower.

The fact that Clint was hot was just a bonus. Bucky was fucking _gone_.

He’d wanted to stay, just to hang around with Clint, but he’d been so sure that would be a bad idea. He was still healing, still had nightmares, an all around fucking mess, despite what he’d recovered, the progress he’d made.

And Bucky hadn’t even known if Clint was into fella’s or not.

Best to play it safe.

Shaking his head, he opened the lid of the crockpot – one of the best modern inventions if you asked him, which nobody had – and inhaled. The chicken looked and smelled good and he replaced the lid, pulling out two bags of potatoes. As far as he was concerned, there was never such a thing as too many potatoes. He sat at the table with a knife and started peeling them, quick and easy, Clint joining in without a single word. They worked in a companionable silence and it was _weird_ to Bucky, how quiet Clint was being.

Then again, he was here for a reason. Bucky just had to figure out what that was.


	4. Nuzzle/Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Day 5: Both Nuzzle and Night were on the list and both can apply here

Clint continued to wear Bucky’s borrowed clothes, despite how ill-fitting they were, for the rest of the day - through dinner and a _much_ better series of Euchre games. Clint had improved immensely since their last rounds and it puzzled Bucky a bit.

He even went to bed in them and Bucky shrugged, bidding Clint good night after his nightly patrol of his property before heading off to bed with his book. He wasn’t quite tired yet, and John Carter had been in a bit of a tricky spot, so he stripped off his pants and slid under the covers, reading by the soft light of his bedside lamp. Bucky had just finished the book and shifted when a noise caught his attention.

His head shot up, ears perking up and twisting about to ferret out what it was.

It was coming from inside the cabin, from the kitchen, actually. He shook off the blankets, dropping down off the bed and padding across the wood floor silently. He nosed the door open after stepping on the floor trigger – it was how he’d been opening every door, each of them specially designed for either human or wolf interaction, if you knew where and how to step – and peeked out into the main room.

The couch was empty, the afghan draped over the arm and pooling to the floor in a slow, slow slide. The fire still crackled and snapped and there was a shuffle in the kitchen. A quiet curse. He pushed the door open further and moved around so he could get a better view.

Clint sat at the table, his head in his hands, breathing hard. “Fuck,” he said, the word choked. Nightmares, probably, thought Bucky. God, those fucking sucked. He remembered, now, how nobody in the tower had ever seemed to sleep normal hours, catching rest when they could. It made for a lot of disjointed rest periods and odd, late night gatherings.

He also remembered that Clint had always seemed to be awake whenever he was. and if there was something wrong, bad enough that Natasha had grounded him, whatever nightmares he’d been having before had probably gotten worse.

There’d been a mission two, before he’d begged off being an avenger, that had contributed to Bucky’s nightmares. He got it. Hoping Clint wouldn’t be upset about the intrusion, Bucky joined Clint at the table, nudging his leg with his nose.

Clint jumped, gasping hard and jerking back in his chair, hands flailing – no, not flailing, instinctively looking for a weapon he wasn’t carrying – before his eyes focused downward, to Bucky. Bucky nudged him again and Clint let out a wet chuckle.

Not for the first time, Bucky wished he could communicate with Clint like this – or, well, with anyone if he so wanted to. Huffing, Bucky shifted back, taking the chair beside Clint and pressing up against him a little bit, ready to move back and give him space.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, before muttering in a lower tone, “Too quiet out here.” Bucky wasn’t sure the second part was supposed to be heard, though he knew Clint had to be aware of his hearing.

“That’s one of the reasons I like it out here,” Bucky drawled.

Flashing him a weak smile, Clint said, “I’d ask if that was a shifter thing, but Steve –“

Bucky snorted. “Steve’s always been contrary.”

Clint laughed. “True enough.”

“Still, there’s sound out here, plenty of noises, if you know how to listen.” Bucky cocked his head and closed his eyes for a brief few seconds, letting the sounds of the fire, of crickets outside, of a particularly noisy owl all wash over him. he opened them in time to see the smile on Clint’s face shifting, turning forced, with a bitterness in the twist of Clint’s lips that hadn’t been there before.

“Sure, if you say so.” He stretched up a little and Bucky heard his spine popping. “But I’m getting old and you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.”

And that’s it, Bucky realizes. That’s what’s wrong. Maybe the others hadn’t caught on as fast, or maybe they had. But Bucky grew up with Steve and Steve had been hard of hearing. Not deaf, but bad enough to give him problems. He’d learned to compensate and that’s what Bucky was seeing now, had been seeing all along. Clint had some of the same tells Stevie did.

There were times Bucky had said something that Clint hadn’t responded to. Had he chosen not to answer, or had he not heard? And it explained the Euchre game and his sudden competence. He’d looked up the rules on his phone… because he hadn’t _caught_ everything Bucky had explained the first time around.

How much could Clint actually hear? How many of those silences Bucky had been thinking were nice and comfortable had really been because Clint didn’t dare start a conversation he wasn’t sure he could follow? How much was Clint answering vaguely because he had no clue what had been said and how much was him reading lips?

 _JARVIS_ didn’t _have_ lips.

How long had Clint been struggling and why hadn’t he _said_ anything?

This had to have been what Steve had been talking about. Because of course Steve would have picked it up, just from having experienced it himself. Nat because she was Nat. JARVIS would have noticed straight away that Clint wasn’t catching everything and if JARVIS knew, then Tony probably did…

“What’s wrong with your ears, doll?” Bucky asked. He wanted to say it soft, gentle, but if he did, Clint _might_ not hear him.

Clint’s eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before he schooled himself. “Nothing, why would you think there was anything wrong? Would we be having a conversation if there were?”

“Right,” Bucky said, drawing out the word, his mind working fast. Did he force Clint to own up to it, or let the man come to him on his own? He thought of his own recovery and how he hated Steve pushing, and let out a breath, then let the matter drop. “My mistake.”

Clint waved his hand magnanimously. “It’s fine, good sir,” he said solemnly before ruining the effect with a giggle. It was a too bright sound that made Bucky’s heart catch in his throat. He rose and Clint’s eyes went wide.

“Okay, c’mon,” Bucky said, holding his hand out for Clint’s.

“What?” Clint blinked up at him suspiciously.

Bucky wriggled his fingers, huffed when Clint didn’t take his hand and reached for Clint himself, drawing him upright from the chair and tugging him towards the bedroom. Not surprisingly, Clint dug in his heels.

“Seriously, what – what are we doing?” Clint asked.

“Nothing more than sleeping, Clint,” Bucky assured him. “I’m going to shift, we’re both getting under the covers and then we’re going to go to sleep.” He stopped at the door of the bedroom, turned to make sure Clint could see his lips clearly, noticing what he hadn’t consciously noted before – the way Clint’s eyes darted down to his lips, focused and intent, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Look, back at the tower, on some of my worst nights, being able to crawl into Steve’s bed, with the two of us shifting and curled up together like _pack_ , it helped.”

Bucky reached out and gently swept aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Clint’s forehead – his hair had grown out longer than Bucky was used to seeing. “That’s all I’m offering, doll. Just the comfort of another beside you and a better night’s sleep.”

“Oh,” Clint whispered. “Okay.”

“Good,” Bucky whispered back, leaning in to kiss Clint’s forehead before he even realized he’d done it. In fact, he’d drawn back, tugged at Clint once more and led him straight to the bed, shifted and jumped up before the fact that he’d _kissed Clint Barton_ even registered in Bucky’s brain.

At least he was so covered in fur that there was _no way_ Clint could see the flush Bucky could feel spreading over his skin. The urge to whine in his embarrassment was strong, though.

Somehow, he held it back.

He pushed his way under the covers – a task made considerably harder by the tangled mess he’d left behind when he’d gone to check in on Clint in the first place – and felt the bed dip when Clint finally climbed up after him. the blankets moved, Clint rearranging them to properly cover them both and Bucky huffed happily, scooting around till he found the right spot – stretched right along Clint’s side, nuzzling right into him.

Clint chuckled and an arm draped over Bucky’s back, petting through Bucky’s thick, dark fur.

“Okay, I’ll admit it, this _is_ nice”’ Clint said eventually. He yawned. “You’re hotter than a furnace, too.” The fingers carding through Bucky’s fur slowed down and before Bucky knew it, Clint had fallen asleep, a soft snore breaking the otherwise silent room with Bucky’s head tucked under Clint’s chin.

He wriggled against Clint’s side, nuzzling into Clint’s hair and drifting off himself, cozy and warm and _at home_.

It was different, all curled up with Clint than it was with Steve. They were both _pack_ , but Clint was something more. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was wishful thinking or wolf instincts or what, but for tonight, he wasn’t going to worry about it too much.


	5. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompt is from Day 7 - Escape  
> this one actually gave me the most trouble figuring out how it would fit since i was determined to string these all together into one story...
> 
> THis chapter wound up having the bulk of the angst. it should be clear sailing from here.

Several days passed like this, Bucky giving Clint his space while simultaneously continuing to share his bed. Clint still maintained the fiction that nothing was wrong and Bucky allowed it.

If Clint wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready.

Instead, they worked together around the cabin, making meals, tending the fire, doing the few chores Bucky felt was necessary. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of stuff, after all. He continued doing his twice daily circuits around the property, while Clint went about setting up a small archery range with chunks of oddly split wood that he turned into hanging targets on the edge of the clearing.

In the utility room, Clint had discovered a basket filled with yarn and some needles that Bucky hadn’t even realized was there. Clint had looked a few things up on his phone and then made an attempt at knitting, Bucky sat beside him as he handled a couple of the longer ones, finding them feeling somewhat familiar in his grip. He watched a few of the same videos Clint had, giving it a try.

After a few false starts, Bucky found his fingers flying along comfortably and easily – so long as he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. Every time he did, his fingers would fumble and a needle would drop out of his hand and bounce along the floor with a clatter, rolling under the couch and making good it’s escape.

Clint chuckled at Bucky’s growing frustration, even as his fingers were trapped by his own tangled mess of yarn. Bucky nudged him, knocking Clint sideways as Clint’s chuckles turned into guffaws.

“Hey, doll, anyone ever tell you it ain’t nice to laugh at other people’s failures?” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes, setting down his project – he had no idea what he was even going for, to be honest, just letting his fingers do the walking whenever he was able to stop overthink it – and reaching out to untangle Clint.

“The look on your face,” Clint gasped. “So indignant, so forlorn. I just… “ He tried to straighten up but was still snickering and giggling so badly as Bucky worked on his hands that he overbalanced, head colliding with Bucky’s chest. Clint made no further effort to right himself or even help with the mess he’d made.

“I see how it is, laughing at someone else’s misfortunes,” Bucky drawled. “See if I ever help you out of a tight spot again.” Clint started wheezing against Bucky’s chest, making it harder for Bucky to work at the knot of yarn. “Okay, how the _fuck_ can't you get out of this? You and Nat are like regular Houdini’s.”

The wheezing shifted from choked laughter to something wholly different, Clint suddenly shaking against him. Bucky’s fingers stilled, pulling away from the mess to look down at him in concern. Clint’s breathing hitched and his hands clutched at Bucky, finding no purchase with the way he was still tied up, a whine of dismay escaping him.

“Shh, I’m here, I’m not leaving,” Bucky soothed.

“I can’t hear you,” Clint gasped, his voice cracking. “I know you’re talking but I can’t… I can’t…” his breathing shuddered, his whole body shaking with it against Bucky’s and Bucky wrapped his arms around Clint, pulling him closer, giving him comfort. This was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for, but damn it, Bucky didn’t _actually_ know what to _do_ about it. “I can’t _hear_ – how can I be an Avenger if I can’t even _hear_?”

Bucky cupped one hand around Clint’s head, letting the metal one run up and down his back, feeling Clint shake and shudder and breathing all too fast. He couldn’t stop from talking softly, from humming lightly, instinct demanding sound Clint couldn’t hear. Bucky hoped the vibrations were soothing instead of antagonizing – Stevie had been touch and go on that back in the day, depending on his mood or what had set him off.

They sat like that a long time, curled together on the couch, the knitting lying forgotten between them, or rolled to the floor. Eventually, Clint settled against Bucky, slumping into his hold, breathing evenly. Bucky’s chest was a little wet, but he didn’t plan to mention it. Clint had been holding this in for how long? Over a month. That was a long time to dwell on something that could potentially change Clint’s life drastically.

Eventually, Clint shifted, pushing off Bucky, face splotchy, eyes red and darting away. Shame covered his face and Bucky knew he couldn’t let that stand. He reached for Clint, gently grabbing his chin and gently urging him to face Bucky.

“That must have been rough, holding that in so long,” he said. “How bad is it?”

Clint shrugged, eyes darting away, then back, face scrunching up. It was clear he still didn’t want to talk, but just as clear that he needed to.

“Comes and goes,” he admitted finally. “Sometimes it’s dull, like, I’m hearing through cotton or something, and sometimes there’s just… nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I noticed you were reading my lips,” Bucky said cautiously, slowly. “Seems like something you already knew?”

“Well, it does come in handy in the spy business,” Clint said, tossing it out flippantly, but his eyes turned haunted. Whatever it was, that was something he still wasn’t ready to touch on, and Bucky allowed it. Being patient had already netted one confession, he could afford to wait a little longer, however much Clint needed.

“This isn’t the end of being an Avenger, you know,” Bucky said. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

Clint laughed bitterly, shoulders hunching inwards. “I’m already a plain old human on a team that’s pretty much _not._ This becomes just one more thing to hold me back.”

Bucky slid his hand off Clint’s chin, both hands coming up to cup the back of Clint’s head. “Jesus, what did I do to deserve you and Steve? One of you always tossing themselves at things he couldn’t handle, the other believing he’s less than he is?”

“I can’t exactly compare to Captain America,” Clint tried to point out; his eyes looked hurt.

“You don’t have to be Captain America. You’re Hawkeye. And your hearing has nothing to do with your aim or your skill, your compassion and moral compass,” Bucky said. He moved, tapping a finger to Clint’s temple. “And you said yourself it’s not completely gone. You don’t think Tony can’t whip something up that can help you? That the team can’t work out ways to help?”

“Nat and Cap _grounded_ me!” Clint protested, pulling away from Bucky sharply.

Bucky’s hands fell to his lap when Clint stood and he waited for Clint to turn back to him before speaking. He had to make sure Clint didn’t _miss_ this. “Yeah, because you were _hiding_ , doll. They can’t help you if you won’t tell them what’s wrong.”

He stood, putting his hands on Clint’s shoulders and stared up into his stormy blue eyes, Clint freezing in place.

“I know you have a hard time trusting people. All of us do, for one reason or another, and I’m not going to pry. But the Avengers are your family, now. You gotta start trusting them, Clint. You need to have _somebody_ in your life that you can trust. I thought that Nat was that for you, you two always seemed so close to me – “

“I do, she is,” Clint said softly. “She’s the sister I never had. But she didn’t need my shit…”

“She’s your family. That’s what family does,” Bucky said.

“Not in my experience,” Clint said, brokenly.

“Then it’s time to change that experience,” Bucky said firmly. “Okay? You don’t have to go through shit alone.”

Clint sighed, dropping his head forward to Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m just so tired,” he said, the words plaintive and small. How long had Clint been shouldering this and who knew what else on his own because he didn’t want to be a bother?

“I bet you are, doll,” Bucky said softly, knowing he wouldn’t be heard. He eased Clint and himself back down onto the couch, twisting Clint about so he was sitting almost sideways in Bucky’s lap against his chest. He pulled Clint’s hands back towards him, picking at the wild mess of yarn still tangled around his wrists and arms. Bucky could have reached for the scissors, just cut through the entire mess and take the easy way out, but that’s not what he wanted Clint to take from this.

So he patiently, carefully, worked with the yarn while Clint watched him silently, eyes darting from Bucky’s hands, up to his face and back again and again and again.

When at last he’d unwrapped the last twist of yarn from around Clint’s forearms, he let the yarn fall to the side, shifted a little bit more so he was laying back on the couch and drawing Clint with him. Clint was tense at first, but then, with each exhale, his bod relaxed till he was a warm and boneless puddle atop of Bucky. Bucky curled an arm around Clint’s waist and Clint sighed and twisted, one leg falling between Bucky’s as he practically burrowed into Bucky's embrace.

It felt good, having Clint in his arms, having Clint’s weight on top of him, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. This was different then what they’d been sharing in the bed, when Bucky was a wolf, but it was no less profound.

He found himself sad, because here he was helping Clint, convincing him that he could still be an Avenger and that would mean Clint would one day – someday soon – escape the cabin, escape Bucky, and go back to that life.

Bucky would need to decide if he could live without Clint Barton and stay here, or bite the bullet and follow him back to New York, despite the fact that there wasn’t even anything between them but Bucky’s yearning feelings.

Could that be enough?

After this, Bucky wasn’t sure anymore, but there was no way he was going to hold Clint back from doing what _he_ wanted to do. Choice was important. Helping Clint make his choice, helping Clint to have choices to _make_ was… it was… it was intensely important to Bucky that Clint got that.

The warmth of the fire, the exhaustion of roller coaster emotions, the comfort of Clint’s body against his, all combined to make Bucky drowsy, his fingers carding absently through Clint’s hair.

Clint fell asleep first, and the even rise and fall of his chest, the slide of his hand curving around Bucky’s side, warm and calloused as it rubbed along Bucky’s skin, lulled Bucky under right with them, the fire popping merrily away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 2 more prompts to finish writing but i think i have till monday or tuesday to finish them. i started this late - thursday i think - but not bad progress!


	6. Music/Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapters prompt came form Day 3: i picked both Music and Mine 
> 
> the deadline approaches and its past my bedtime. I'm amazed i got these last two prompts/chapters in!

The difference between _knowing_ what was wrong and having Clint _tell_ him what was wrong was bigger than Bucky had thought. Clint didn’t hide it anymore, nor his frustration when he couldn’t figure out what was being said, and that made it easier for Bucky to try and _help_ him.

Bucky didn’t need as much sleep as Clint, so sometimes, when Bucky was wide awake, he’d leave Clint in the bed and go out to the main rooms. He’d take the laptop that Stark had insisted he take with him, but that he hadn’t _wanted_ to use it before now, but was now glad he had.

ASL was easier to learn when watching youtube videos.

Bucky had always been a quick learner, and the serum had improved certain aspects such as memory – as long as it wasn’t getting fucked with – and so after a week or so of solid effort, he was feeling comfortable enough to start peppering his speech with signs.

As he’d suspected, Clint already knew ASL.

The days themselves bled together in a comfortable harmony. Bucky still had his patrols, both morning and evening, peppered with the occasional hunt. They’d cook together, play cards, talk quietly or knit – Clint had improved quickly once Bucky had challenged him. Clint, like Steve, apparently couldn’t back down from a challenge.

There were always chores, though the place was small enough so that it wasn’t in any great measure, and Clint’s makeshift archery range which even Bucky availed himself of on occasion after Clint shyly offered to share his bow.

That, Bucky had figured, was as near a big deal as admitting the loss of hearing, so he treasured those moments as Clint took the time to show him how to shoot a bow. Guns, Bucky knew, and there was quite a bit of knowledge from his sniper days that was transferrable and Clint, well, he praised Bucky easily and took care of the rest.

Sometimes Bucky would read while Clint made arrows, or practiced his knitting. Sometimes Clint joined him, cuddling as the both read, though Clint more often then not dropped to sleep snuggled into Bucky’s side and the wolf part of him kept thinking, mine, mine, mine, mine.

He had to remind himself, often, that Clint was not, in fact, his.

The wolf part of him didn’t want to hear that though.

Still, the time passed easily enough. When the rain let up, they even went out on a few walks. Sometimes with Bucky on two legs, and sometimes on four.

The only downside Bucky could see, was that his guitar skills were getting rusty. But that was okay, because Clint was still sensitive about his ears and there were so many other things that Bucky _couldn’t_ help, but that – _that_ was something he could set aside, for now, for Clint. He didn’t want to make Clint feel worse than he already did.

But of course, Clint wasn’t Hawkeye for nothing. Just as Bucky had thought and said, Clint wasn’t dumb and his eyes were top notch, and before long Bucky caught his gazed flicking over to the guitar currently gathering dust in the corner.

Clint nudged at him with his toes. “I been here how long now, and you’ve never touched that thing.”

Bucky shrugged, resolutely looking away from the guitar and back at his book.

Toes poked him again. “Bucky.” Poke. “Bucky.” Poke. “Bucky, stop ignoring me.”

Sighing, Bucky looked up at Clint over the book. “What?”

“Why don’t you play? Are you that bad at it?” he asked.

Biting his lip, Bucky put the book down in his lap. “I do play and I’m not half bad, I don’t think. I just thought… it might be a little much right now, with everything going on.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” Clint said sadly. “Don’t give up something you like just cause I’m all messed up.”

“Stop that,” Bucky snapped out, quite more harshly than he’d meant to. In fact, he hadn’t meant to be harsh at all, but he was beginning to understand a lot why Natasha had insisted that Clint didn’t go off sulking on his own.

He had a tendency to be self-deprecating and Bucky had needed to drag him out of himself more than once these past few weeks and he feared how much worse Clint would be if he’d been alone, how lost in his own head he’d have gotten, how far the downward spiral would go.

It was terrifying.

Was this how Steve had felt when he brought Bucky back to the tower? Had Bucky been this bad?

If he had, he must have gotten better or else nothing on this earth could have persuaded Steve to let Bucky go and hide in the woods.

Clint unfolded himself off the couch and Bucky flinched, afraid he’d pissed him off, but he only crossed in front of Bucky, past the fire, to the corner –

Bucky sat up straight, the book sliding off his lap to the floor.

“Clint, what are you doing?”

Either Clint was ignoring him, or he hadn’t heard him, because his steps didn’t falter in the slightest, stopping in front of where the tan guitar case was leaned up against the wall. He picked it up, returning to Bucky’s side, placing the case on the table, amid the playing cards and empty mugs, sitting back down on the couch, their thighs touching.

Reaching out, Clint deliberately snapped open the case.

“Did you know I could play?”

Bucky stopped breathing. “No,” he finally managed to get out. Fuck, was this yet another thing that Clint had lost?

Somehow, in the next instant, Clint had shifted enough on the couch to give him enough space for the guitar. He ran his fingers over the strings slowly, carefully tuning the guitar as he went. He looked up at Bucky.

“It’s not always gone,” he said softly, a sad smile. “Today’s a good day, so far. Muted, but workable.” Finished tuning, Clint closed his eyes and strummed, humming and… oh wow, he was matching the vibrations. This close, with his augmented senses – both from the wolf and the serum - Bucky could _feel_ it.

Then Clint began to sing; the words were soft at first, a little uncertain maybe, but Clint kept going and they grew in strength and confidence. The song was something mournful, something Bucky had not yet heard, and Clint’s voice was beautiful – it was always beautiful, but now it was pure art, tugging at him, swaying him closer to Cint’s orbit.

Bucky didn’t think he could fall any deeper in love, but with each note, both good and bad, he found he was.

He was gaping at Clint when he finished and Clint opened his eyes, blushing when he caught sight of Bucky staring at him. Bucky was sure his heart was on his sleeve but he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring.

Clint blinked, looking away. Clearing his throat, Clint abruptly pushed the guitar at Bucky. “Uh, here, you should practice. I’m sorry you felt you weren’t free to do that.” Clint rubbed at the back of his neck as Bucky reflexively took the guitar into his own hands.

“Go on, play something?”

“I’m not very good yet. I mean, I’ve definitely improved, even I can tell that, but I told ya, I’ve been teachin’ myself,” Bucky said, suddenly shy. So far, nobody had heard him play, not even Stevie, and he used to share _everything_ with Steve.

“That’s okay. We all start somewhere, right?” Clint encouraged, sending Bucky a bright and blinding smile.

Bucky was certain his heart skipped a few beats.

“Please, for me, Bucky?” Clint pleaded, biting his lip.

Breathing. Breathing was a thing that was needed. Bucky pulled in a breath, an almost too loud gasp, and he prayed that Clint didn’t hear it. Tentatively, resolutely, he looked down at the guitar, at his hands and took deep, calming breaths. He slid his hand down the frets till he had his fingers where he wanted them, then ran his thumb down the strings and listened to their tone – though he knew goddamn well _exactly_ how they were sounding tonight – the tactic helping calm his mind.

Slowly, he picked out a tune, something half remembered from before the war - or maybe during – fumbling with the chords. It had been something he’d been working on a while, a way to jog hi memory. So far, the words hadn’t yet come to him, but the tune evoked nights out, double dates with Steve, of a few drinks and dancing – _so_ much dancing.

When he finished, Bucky finally looked up to see Clint watching him avidly.

“Not bad,” Clint said. “You said you were teaching yourself, right? Want me to show you a few tricks and tips?”

“Would you, doll?” Bucky asked hopefully. He searched Clint’s face for any sort of hidden pain or resentment. He didn’t see anything. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Clint said, beaming at Bucky. Bucky stared at him in disbelief, his heart trying to break right out of his chest at this selfless man. Surging forward, without a single thought in his head, with no intention of doing a damn thing, Bucky found his lips pressing on Clint’s, guitar pressed between them.

He gasped, attempted to pull back, to apologize, when Clint’s hand came to rest along the back of Bucky’s neck and pulled him back in, the other reaching down to move the guitar safely away at the same time and then Clint’s mouth was on his - soft, chapped lips covering Bucky’s, making him melt into Clint with a whine.

Bucky’s mind raced. How the fuck was this happening?

And then Clint’s lips parted, his tongue darted out to trace along Bucky’s bottom lip and Bucky gasped, clutching at Clint and opening to let Clint in.

It was heaven, it was molten lava, it was sweetness and coffee and _everything_ and Bucky could _not_ stop kissing Clint.

He never wanted to stop kissing Clint.

Thankfully, from the way Clint was peppering Bucky with hungry kisses - both soft and light, then deep and dirty – Clint was of a like mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, this chapter marks my entry to the Reveres Prompt Challenge  
> this challenge is prompted by this image:  
> 


	7. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompts are from day 4 - i picked After but also the gif of the stream running through the woos
> 
> and that's it, thats the end. this isn't beta'd. i'm literally posting and going to bed *bites lip nervously*
> 
> p.s. this chapter does push the sfw boundary but its really just a fade to black.

If life had seemed like a dream before, that dream had become positively idyllic wrapped in Clint’s arms. They didn’t talk about it, not directly, but each touch, each glance, seemed weighted down with possibility, with promise.

Bucky no longer went to bed as a wolf, but as a man, relishing in the touch of skin on skin.

He’d been too long without, and he once might have worried that it was his sole reason for gravitating towards Clint’s touches, if he hadn’t already learned long since that he couldn’t bare the touch of almost anyone else.

Clint was one of the few, one of the trusted, and knowing now that touch was welcome, even encouraged, Bucky couldn’t get enough of it.

It appeared that Clint couldn’t either, unwilling to part from Bucky too long, to the point that he started accompanying Bucky on his rounds through the woods. Bucky still did those on four feet, using all his considerable senses to make certain there’d been no breeches.

Time and time again, the borders proved to be untouched, but even the welcome changes between him and Clint couldn’t swallow his need to be sure they were safe.

But the patrols changed a bit, with Clint along. He stayed quiet, proving he knew well how to walk through woodfall without making a sound, but the patrols lost their urgency, the walk becoming an almost leisurely stroll on some days. It didn’t matter, after all, how quickly they checked the perimeter, only that nothing had changed since their last check.

There was a stream that cut through the corner of the property, one which Bucky was sure fed into his well, the water always coming out crisp and clean and near shockingly cold. The acreage around his cabin was large and each day, Clint insisted on exploring a new section once the patrol had been finished.

It made Bucky’s wriggle with happiness, tail wagging way too obviously, but his happiness couldn’t be contained.

It couldn’t and he didn’t even try, because it felt like a declaration, one in which Clint would stay with him. After all, why would he go through the trouble of familiarizing himself with the land they were living on if he didn’t intend to stick around?

Bucky was under no illusions that Clint would stop Avengering but, for now at least, Clint still needed to adjust to his new normal, and even then, he didn’t need to be an Avenger 24/7, right?

They still didn’t talk about it, and maybe they should, but Bucky was too happy to risk breaking the blissful bubble they had going on.

The days were definitely turning colder, though, the clearing by the cabin turning golden with fallen leaves scattered across by autumn breezes. A few times, Bucky watched, curled around himself on the ground, as Clint practiced his archery by pinning leaves to the trunks of trees, somehow managing to pick leaves as they fell so that they left behind a pattern.

The skill Clint had with his bow had always been impressive to Bucky but this was something else. He felt a sense of pride, though he had nothing to do with Clint’s ability. Instead, it was pride that he could call this man his in _any_ way.

With an eye on the weather, Bucky shifted, tearing himself away from the gorgeous view of Clint with his bow. Snow was in the air and though they had plenty of wood for now, he’d rather finish off the pile before it was buried. This was his first winter in this cabin, in this area, and he had no idea how long snow held on once it started.

He ducked inside for a pair of pants before attacking the woodpile with the axe, pushing himself to go faster than normal as Clint practiced with one eye on the darkening sky. At the pace he set, Bucky found himself sweating with exertion, but not tired, not sore, just pleasantly warmed up.

Bucky was surprised when he split the last log and looked around for more. Clint joined him as they stacked the wood into the adjoining shed, a door from the other side of it letting out into the kitchen for ease of access no matter the weather. Dirt and bark covered them both by the time they were done.

Kicking off his boots as they entered the cabin, Clint stretched. “Man, I could do with a nice, long soak.”

Hands on the waistband of his sweats as he’d headed to the bathroom, Bucky perked up, an idea coming his way. “That sounds real good, actually. Was intending on a hot shower but…” he looked Clint up and down and licked his lips. “Wouldn’t mind sharin’ a bath.”

“Oh yeah?” Clint asked, sauntering over in sock clad feet. “I mighta noticed that tub was big enough for two. Did it come that way?”

“It was one of the perks,” Bucky admitted.

Clint came to a stop just before him, hands coming to rest on Bucky’s hipbones. “You put that perk to use yet?”

“No, and I’m finding that was a huge oversight on my part,” Bucky said, pressing closer. He wanted to nuzzle into Clint’s neck, wanted to nibble and lick his way up that long line of Clint’s throat, wanted to drive him crazy with that spot, just under his ear –

But he held back, because today was a bad day for Clint’s ears and Bucky hadn’t talked him into checking with Tony yet to see if Tony could work any magic, and so he wanted to make sure Clint could see his lips.

Clint smirked at him. “Then let’s correct that. Besides,” Clint said, closing that last bit of distance himself, whispering into Bucky’s ear – “You’ve been strolling around here absolutely, deliciously and distractedly naked and I think it’s my turn.”

Bucky whined, because it was true. Not once had he seen Clint naked. Shirtless, yeah. From just above his ankles down to his toes, sure – every time he wore Bucky’s pants, anyway. But not once had Clint actually stripped completely, not even for bed.

He watched Clint pull away, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, to the couch as he walked away from Bucky. Bringing his hands back in towards his body, Clint’s fingers grazed over his ribs and hooked into the waist band of his low-slung jeans - the loose ones that absolutely needed a belt but never got one, not that Bucky complained. They were threadbare and faded, the bottom hem ragged around the ankles, the legs bearing more than a few holes showing tantalizing bits of skin.

Clint disappeared through the bathroom door before the jeans came off, and Bucky whined again, shucking off his sweatpants and hurrying to follow. He heard the water sputter on before smoothing out to a muted thunder as it filled the tub.

“You’re a fucking tease, doll,” Bucky drawled, when he made it over the threshold of the door to find Clint’s jeans still on as he bent over the tub, hand under the running water. He didn’t answer, of course, but that was okay. Bucky looked his fill, at the way Clint’s ass filled out those jeans, at the light flush working its way down those shoulders. Bucky stepped up to Clint and ran a hand gently down his spine. Clint straightened up with a hum, leaning back into Bucky’s embrace.

Bucky kissed his neck, hands wrapping around Clint’s waist. He watched his hair brushing over Clint’s shoulders, listened to the little sighs Clint made. Clint tilted his head, giving Bucky better access to his neck and Bucky obligingly trailed more kisses along the line of his throat even as his hands worked Clint free of his jeans and boxers.

Turning, Clint stepped backwards into the tub, pulling Bucky in after him.

The tub, it turned out, had been a _wonderful_ idea. And afterwards, all sated and drowsy, the two of them had climbed into bed together, twining naked limbs and trading sleepy kisses.

The next day would see a visit from the team, despite the blanket of new fallen snow. It would see Tony and Bruce checking Clint over and excitedly talking designs with JARVIS and Clint looking close to tears of relief.

It would see Nat hugging Clint hard and signing words that Bucky would be polite enough to turn away from – he wouldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation.

It would see Steve pulling Bucky aside and looking him over and grinning the first _real_ grin Bucky had seen on him since they’d reconnected - not that the other smiles Steve had given him hadn’t been real. But they hadn’t been this happy, this carefree as Steve when Steve would inevitably pull Bucky into his own, tight hug, words of congratulations on his lips.

It would see Sam clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulders while Bucky pretended to threaten him with chopping his hand off with the axe.

The next day would see the team watching Bucky and Clint move around each other like a choreographed dance as they cooked breakfast for everyone.

There would come conversations of the future, of what each of them wanted, what they could do. Bucky and Clint would elect to stay the winter out there at the cabin, but come spring they’d return to the tower. Tony would outfit Clint with aides and the rest of the Avengers would learn sign. And later that night, Clint would break down in Bucky’s, crying because Bucky had been right this whole time.

These people were his family, were Bucky’s family too.

Clint _would_ remain on the Avengers - but only as part of a reserve team and eventually, Bucky would get to a place where he would feel comfortable doing the same.

They would make a life for each other, a life that included the other Avengers, a life that would pull in new people to be part of the team, part of the family.

But all of that was after.

Right now, they were in each other’s embrace, their fingers slotted together like they’d always been meant to. Bucky tucked his head under Clint’s chin, breathed in the smell of him – washed clean of dirt and grime.

Breathing evenly, Bucky’s eyes slid shut, and he slept, his dreams reliving the good moments of his day – of which there were plenty. Bucky still got nightmares, as did Clint, but more and more often, lately, those nightmares were breaking apart and he was sleeping through the night, safe and warm.

Bucky didn’t think that life _could_ get any better. Little did he know what lay in store.


End file.
